


897-A

by buttered_onions



Series: Shiro Week 2016 [3]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemons, Gen, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Shiro (Voltron)-centric, Shiro Week 2016, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-26
Updated: 2016-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:13:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8614594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttered_onions/pseuds/buttered_onions
Summary: The only people allowed on space exploration missions are those whose daemons have settled. Shiro isn’t one of them. A fill for Shiro Week 2016, Day Seven: AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the piece I wrote first for Shiro Week, and the piece I get to post last. ~~Probably should've been my first clue that this was not about to be a week full of short little one-shots....~~ I'm THRILLED to get to share this with you today. Beyond thrilled. I've been hankering to post this for a long, lonnnnng time.
> 
> Special special thanks to my dear friends who assisted with this fic. Thank you to my dear friend [mumblefox](http://mumblefox.tumblr.com), for beta'ing and solving problems as usual with grace and ease when I struggled through them. You are such a gift to me and I'm so grateful. And thank you, THANK YOU to my dearest friend [ashinan](http://ashinan.tumblr.com). This fic definitely would not exist if you hadn't literally stayed up with me until two am while I flung words at you because this story wouldn't stop. I can't thank you enough for your constant support and encouragement, even when you're exhausted. Thanks for the trash heap as always. <3
> 
> Enjoy!!

“Form 897-A,” Matt declares, dropping it on Shiro’s dinner. It misses the potatoes by an inch. “That’s it, that’s the one you need to start the appeal process.”

“The appeal for what?” Shiro asks. Rielle lifts her head from the bench at his side. She’s a dalmatian this evening, tail wagging with curiosity as Shiro picks the paper out of the peas.

“To fly with an unsettled daemon!” Matt spreads his arms wide, grinning. Lynnilia lands on his outstretched forearm, a preening crow. She shifts into a bluejay almost immediately, gleeful and smug. “This one’s everything I’ve been waiting for. We’re gonna do it. I’ve turned mine in already, this one’s for you.”

“To where, exactly?” Shiro asks. Rielle shifts and leaps up on the table, snuffling at the paper with the keen nose of a rabbit.

Matt’s eyes gleam behind his glasses. “To Kerberos.”

 

“Kerberos?” Iverson repeats, from the other side of his desk. His daemon, a scarred bald hawk, blinks a beady eye at Shiro and Rielle. “I see you’ve already heard of it. Sit down, Shirogane. There’s nothing to worry about. With your track record you’re a shoo-in.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ve glanced at the paperwork,” Shiro admits, taking the proffered seat. Rielle sits on his feet, large and warm as a sleek border collie. She’s shifted several times since dinner, mostly from excitement. Shiro’s glad she was a goat for only two hallways.

‘Glanced at’ is an understatement. Shiro’s already studied the application process for uncharted space exploration multiple times, waiting for one that felt _right_. Kerberos does. It’s far, it’s new, and it has all the glamour of novelty with just enough drudgery of a six-month flight to hopefully dispel the undedicated. It’s exactly what Shiro’s been looking for.

Iverson waves his hand. “Don’t be daunted by the 897-A.” Rielle sits up at Shiro’s feet, poking her head above the desk. “It’s not common, but it’s been done before. The Europa mission? Carlene Fiore was the pilot. Daemon settled halfway out.”

“A leopard,” Shiro recalls, from his history lessons.

“You have a good memory,” Iverson says, eyebrows raised. He picks up a piece of paper from his desk. “Do you need the form?”

The form’s currently pressed under a book in his room, stained pea-green around the edges. “No, sir.”

“I mean it, Shirogane.” Iverson’s daemon hops off his shoulder, tapping claws against the desk as her human continues. “An exception can be made for the ideal candidate. If you focus, and take the time to get it in, I’ll tell you now I don’t see much cause for concern.”

It’s rare praise indeed, hard-fought for and well-earned. It should make him happier, should send a warm burst all through Shiro’s chest and tingling to his fingertips. Instead it’s the opposite, a chill spreading down from his shoulders that’s cold and bitterly unwelcome. “Just one?”

Iverson bursts into laughter, a full-bodied chuckle. “Just one what, one form? Good one, Shirogane. I’ll send you the packet.”

“Thank you, sir.” Shiro’s heart is working a slow descent towards his boots. Rielle’s stiffened at his side. “I meant the exception.”

“For a crew of three?” Iverson asks. His daemon hops off the desk onto her perch, regarding Rielle from on high. “Just one. That’s correct. Don’t look so downcast! With your application in the mix the committee’d be foolish to pick anyone else. I meant what I said. Get the application in on time; I’ll write your recommendation myself. It’s the opportunity of a lifetime, Shirogane. You can’t miss this.”

Shiro ducks his head.  “I understand.”

“Don’t forget the 897-A,” Iverson warns, and Shiro takes the clean copy from his superior officer before departing with Rielle.

 

Iverson’s words ring in Shiro’s head all the way back to his dorm.

 

“We don’t have to go,” Rielle says, nudging into Shiro’s hip. She’s curled up on the bed next to him, a snowy leopard tonight. It’s a new form for her.

Iverson’s true to his word: Shiro’s staring at the application packet just arrived by inter-Garrison email. The 897-A sits on his desk, Iverson’s clean copy next to Matt’s stained one.

Kerberos would be right up Matt’s alley. It’s exactly what he’s been researching: ice cores, preservation, new composition of planets and moons and soil, or lack thereof. Uncharted territories. The possibility of deep extraterrestrial life.

But it’s everything Shiro’s been waiting for, too.

_One exception._

“I don’t know,” Shiro admits, slowly, and puts the application packet aside.

 

“What do you mean, _not applying?”_ Matt asks at breakfast, mouth agape, hash browns spilling out. Lynnilia steals part of his bacon, pushing it around with her robin’s beak. Rielle watches from the bench by Shiro, still snowy like last night.

Shiro shrugs. “No real reason. There’s lots out there, I took another look last night. There’s the Venus topographical, for instance.”

Matt snorts, swallowing his mouthful of food. “Everyone’s been to Venus. You’ve flown that simulation so many times no one can beat your score, not even your shadow.”

“His name is Keith, Matt.”

“That’s what we said,” Lynn teases, “Rielle, hit him.”

“Seriously,” Matt urges, leaning forwards.“You’re going to let this opportunity pass you up for _Venus_? It’s space! The great unknown -”

“The final frontier!” Lynnilia adds.

“ _Space!”_ Matt gestures grandly with his fork, nearly flinging bits of egg across the table. “ _Kerberos_. The furthest man has ever gone. What if there’s aliens out there? What if we find them? What if the first sign of extraterrestrial life is waiting for us at the known edge of the solar system, and we _find it first?”_

Lynnilia lands next to Rielle, who bats at her good-naturedly with a paw.

“Aliens?” Shiro says. “Come on.”

Matt lowers his voice, setting his fork down. “I know you think they exist. We can’t be the only beings in this galaxy. If they’re out there, I’m going to find them. And you’re coming, too. Don’t you want to?”

 

Of course Shiro _wants_ to. He runs the Venus simulation again that afternoon during a free period, and it’s the same as always. There’s no challenge in the sims for him anymore, despite how high he tweaks the settings, how many extra sessions he leads the new cadets through. There’s only so many questions the new cadets can have.

Matt’s right: Shiro’s bored of Venus. The Saturn expedition’s still a rumor in the wind, not long enough to stick around for. Kerberos is the best opportunity down the pipeline, both in and for a while.

 _You’re a shoo-in,_ Iverson says.

 _It’s everything I’ve been waiting for,_ Matt says, beaming, Lynnilia nesting as a pigeon in his hair.

Shiro stares at the 897-A.

 

Rielle’s still a leopard the next day, though her coat’s changed color beneath the spots to a gentle gold.

“Venus?” Keith says, as they spar. His daemon tussles with Rielle in the corner, a wild cat matching her size-for-size. “Really?”

“Really,” Shiro says firmly, ducking under his arm. Keith’s gotten a lot better over the last few months, but he still telegraphs his swing. “Watch your footwork. Why does everyone think I’d want otherwise?”

Keith’s Tarryn hasn’t settled yet either, a fact she takes full advantage of as she shifts into a mouse and runs between Rielle’s paws. Keith slips under Shiro’s longer reach, twisting behind him. “Because Venus is a _training mission._ Did you not read that part of the briefing?”

Shiro frowns. “What were you doing reading the mission assignments?”

“Keeping an eye on you, apparently,” Keith deadpans, and in Shiro’s total surprise actually manages to land a blow.

 

“ _That’s_ why you missed lunch!” Matt exclaims, when Shiro arrives late in the mess hall for dinner. “What happened to you?”

“Keith,” Rielle explains. The black eye’s mostly faded thanks to advanced medical technology, but Shiro’s still sporting the bruise around the socket. Keith’s torn between guilt and pride, and babbled all the way to the nurse; Shiro doesn’t mind a single bit. It’s one of the first solid hits Keith’s managed. Shiro could never be mad at his friend’s progress.

“Got one on me,” Shiro admits, laying down his tray. Lynnilia hops over to investigate. She’s a magpie tonight, bold and confident.

“Must’ve been a good distraction,” Matt says, digging into Shiro’s peas. “Need me to go defend your honor?”

Shiro can’t stop thinking about Venus. Kerberos. The difference between it and what he wants, outlined in an application packet sitting in his email.

“No,” he says. “I can manage.”

 

Can he?

Could he manage, if Matt went to Kerberos and Shiro stayed behind? He’s been close with Matt since the first day of classes - years, now, of studying and simulating and sparring and everything in between. Shiro’d miss him, but he’d manage. He’d keep busy. That’s not the point.

Could he manage, if Matt went into space on Shiro’s mission?

His black eye hurts, but it’s more of a phantom pain at this point in the evening. It was a good hit, solid and well timed. Hopefully Keith’s gotten past the guilt for the blow he’d sprung on Shiro.

Could Shiro manage dealing a worse one to Matt?

“It’s selfish of us not to tell him,” Rielle says, quietly. She’s changed colors again, her coat back to pristine white.

“I know,” Shiro blurts, heavy and choked. “I _know,_ but -”

He can’t. He can’t give Matt this burden, too.

“Stop overthinking,” Rielle says, understandingly gentle. “You’re injured. I want to sleep.”

She nudges him. Her leopard’s tongue is sandy against his ear.

“Sleep,” his daemon purrs, and Shiro closes his laptop, closes the application, closes his eyes.

 

Sleep is interrupted by the insistent pounding of a fist against his door.

“I talked to your shadow,” Matt says. He’s upset, anger radiating from every inch of him.

“Keith,” Shiro corrects automatically. He frowns. “I don’t need you ‘defending my honor’, I told you.”

“He found _me,”_ Matt shoots back. “What’s this about you taking a training mission over Kerberos? _Seriously?_ Keith seems to think you’re going to give it all away! For a _training mission_ you could do in your _sleep!”_

Shiro glances at the other closed doors. It’s late. “Keep your voice down.”

“We wouldn’t have to have this conversation if you hadn’t been hiding from me.” Matt jabs an accusatory finger into Shiro’s chest. “You want this just as badly as I do, don’t pretend otherwise. What’s the hang-up? Do you not want to spend six months with me and Lynn in a tiny box, because if that’s the case just say so!”

“No,” Rielle blurts. She shifts into a fluffy maine coon, clambering up onto Shiro’s shoulder, so much warm fur against his neck. “Of course we do!”

“Then what is it?” Lynnilia snaps. She’s a hawk again, wings loud in the quiet of the hallway as she hovers at Shiro’s eye level.

“It’s nothing,” Shiro tries.

“Bullshit,” Matt says flatly.

“Language,” Shiro says, sharp. He can’t help it.

“Don’t pull rank,” Matt snaps back, just as heated. “Not on me. That’s not gonna matter anyway, if I go on this mission and you don’t. We both know there’s a promotion involved in it, so what’s the big deal?”

What is Shiro supposed to _say?_ “What if I don’t want a promotion?”

“Bull,” Matt repeats flatly. “I know you, Shiro. You’re good at teaching. You’re good at flying. Iverson’s just waiting until the ink’s dry on your graduation papers before offering you a job. Do you want to be stuck here for the rest of your life? You get the Kerberos application in _before_ that happens, they’ll have no choice but to accept you for it, and then boom! You’re out. Your flight scores are literally unbeatable. Qualification’s not the issue, we’re both shoo-ins here -”

Rielle flinches. Shiro holds his ground, but barely.

Matt’s eyes narrow. Lynnilia lands on his shoulders, tucking her wings, regarding them both like her gaze alone could pry out their secrets  “What is it?”

“It’s nothing,” Shiro says, “It’s late, Matt. We can talk about this in the morning.”

“No,” Matt says, harsh and loud. “I want an answer. Why don’t you want to go to Kerberos with me?”

“You’re talking like it’s a done deal, like you’ve already been accepted.”

“Because my application is _good_ ,” Matt cries, “My thesis is solid, there’s no way they’re turning me down. I worked on it for weeks. Dad read it over five times and said it’s one of the best he’s ever seen. I filled out every part of that 897-A and I’m ready to do whatever other paperwork they cook up. Have you even looked at yours?”

“Yes,” Rielle answers, because Shiro’s tongue is tied, voice stuck in his throat with his heart.

“Then _what is it?”_ Matt demands. “What aren’t you telling me? Don’t you want this? How could you even -”

 _Please don’t,_ Shiro can’t say, _Please don’t ask me to -_

Words unspoken are words unheard. Matt finishes, stark and blunt as he’s always been.

“Takashi, how could you even want anything else?”

 

Of course Shiro _wants_.

The _want_ coils in his chest like a living thing after Matt finally leaves, hot and angry. Shiro tries to push it away. Rielle curls up with him in their tiny room, on the bed they’re definitely too tall for, pushed up against the wall. The window looks out over the rest of the Garrison compound, lit by late-evening lamps and the distant pinprick of stars. She’s a leopard again, an unusual blend of dark and light. Shiro buries his face in her fur and tries to close out the world, too.

Venus would be fine. It’s training. Shiro’s done training. A person can’t have too much training.

If Matt gets the chance to go to Kerberos, Venus _will_ be fine.

Right?

Shiro’s not a selfish person. That’s not how he tries to live his life. It’s just that…it’s just…

_My thesis is solid, there’s no way they’re turning me down!_

_With your application in the mix, the committee’d be foolish to pick anyone else._

Shiro cannot help the wanting.

 

Rielle is different in the morning, a collie with long sable fur. She must’ve shifted sometime in the night. Early morning light spreads through the window, gentle across the rug on the wooden floor and the papers on the desk and the tangled sheets on the bed. Shiro hadn’t slept well.

The Kerberos application is due tomorrow.

“I don’t feel good,” Rielle whines, nuzzling up under his chin.

“We’ll take it easy,” he promises. She shifts again, a slow change into an arctic wolf, and together they lie still and avoid the world.

 

They stay in. Shiro watches the sunlight move across the floor, stares at dust motes, ponders shadows. Someone knocks on his door mid-morning. Shiro ignores it. They try again after the class shift; again after lunch. His console lights up with an incoming message. Shiro ignores that, too, turns away so the blinking green light won’t drive him to insanity. His head is too full. How do you explain the choice between hopes and dreams, the precipice of _me_ versus _you?_ This shouldn’t be Shiro’s call to make. He doesn’t know how.

What he can’t ignore, though, is the distinct rap on his door precisely two hours after dinner. It’s not Keith. Keith doesn’t knock. Matt gave up sometime in the afternoon, three or four visits in. Shiro wasn’t counting.

This, though.

“It’s likely I’ll be Captain of the Kerberos mission,” Samuel Holt says, when Shiro opens the door.

“Sir,” Shiro says, gaping. He’s acutely self-conscious that he didn’t even comb his hair today. “I -”

“At ease,” Sam Holt says, his smile softening the lines of his face. Rielle curves around Shiro’s feet to investigate the Commander’s daemon, a noble terrier that regards Rielle with equal magnanimity. “This is a social call.”

“Does Matt know you’re here?” Shiro blurts.

“I’m sure he’ll find out,” Sam says evenly. “He’s not the only one I’ve spoken to this afternoon. Turn in any applications lately?”

It’s a question only by the barest expectations. Shiro flushes, face warm. Rielle pulls back to his ankles. “No, sir.”

“Are you planning to?” When Shiro doesn’t answer, Sam continues. “I’ll admit that would be a bit of a disappointment if you didn’t. I’ve seen your records, Shiro. They’re quite impressive. A pilot of your skills could really make this mission into a success. There’s still time.”

“I know,” Shiro mumbles. He’s not normally tongue-tied, not normally pressed for words, but there’s so much Shiro can’t explain - to himself, to Matt, let alone Matt’s _father._ The silence in the hall stretches, awkward.

“I understand your difficulty,” Sam says, not unkindly. “It’s a big decision. Is it the 897-A? I know those can be daunting, I’ve managed them a time or two myself.”

Shiro blinks. “You, sir?”

“Holts settle late.” Sam smiles ruefully. “Bit of an odd tradition, but there it is. I helped Matt with it this time and I don’t doubt he’ll fill out at least one more before Lynnilia makes up her mind. There’s no shame in needing one. The committee will take all of that into consideration before making their exceptions. Don’t let that stop you.”

“Commander Iverson told us they only accept one,” Rielle blurts, before Shiro can bite back the words.

Sam blinks. His terrier answers for him. “One? One what?”

Shiro swallows. “Exception.”

Sam covers his shock quickly, just a sharp intake of breath, but the damage is done. Shiro can’t meet his eyes.

“I see,” Samuel Holt says, quietly, “And you would rather my son…?”

Shiro’s trapped. Can’t nod. Can’t shake his head. He’s frozen, weighted with a burden too big to bear.

“Shiro.” Carefully, fully respectful of his space, Sam places his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. His terrier nudges Rielle, who’s equally surprised. “Iverson should never have told you that. I’m sorry.”

Shiro blinks, taken aback. “It’s not your fault.”

“Regardless, it’s caused you stress and an undue amount of pressure.” Sam’s words are serious, his touch grounding and sure. “And I’m going to say something to you, not as Matt’s father or as one of your instructors, but as someone who’s seen your potential and is looking out for _you._ Don’t let your fear stop you from turning in that application.”

“I -”

“You don’t know how the committee will decide. Maybe they’ll make an exception to the exceptions. Maybe Rielle will settle in the six or seven months it’ll take them to make up their minds. They’re turtles on that board, Shiro. Anything could happen.”

“Literal turtles,” the terrier adds. Rielle barks out the smallest laugh.

Sam smiles too. “Exactly. Who can say how the committee will go? Maybe it’ll be you; maybe it’ll be Matt; maybe both; maybe neither. But it definitely won’t be you, Shiro, if you don’t get in that application.”

“Do you get a say, sir?” Rielle asks, from behind Shiro’s legs. “About who goes.”

“If only we did,” the terrier says. Shiro doesn’t even know her name. “Wouldn’t that just make everything easier?”

“I’m going to give you some advice, son,” Sam says, and he’s just so kind about it. Shiro can’t look away, can’t move, trapped not by indecision but by the first kind authority someone’s offered with this burden in days. “There’s a committee for a reason. They’ll weigh all the pros and cons of all the applicants, as well as the mission parameters, and make the best educated decision. Don’t do their job for them. You don’t need to make that choice. You don’t need to put that kind of pressure on yourself. My son wouldn’t thank you for it, and neither will I.”

“Sir -”

“Furthermore,” Sam continues firmly, “You’re stuck on the _what if_ or the _if this_ or _if that._ There’s only one _if_ I want you to worry about and that’s this: if you get too worried about what could go wrong, you might miss a chance to do something great. I want you to think on that, okay? And I want you to apply to be on my ship. Matt won’t hold it against you and neither will I. The only thing we’ll hold against you is if you don’t turn in that application. Understood?”

“Understood, sir,” Shiro says weakly.

Sam squeezes his shoulder once before letting go. “Good night, Shiro.”

“Good night.”

 

Shiro waits until Samuel Holt has turned the corner before stepping back into his room, and closing the door. He has to lean against it for a moment, catching his bearings. Everything’s shifting. Everything’s the same.

“Do you think,” he begins.

“I”m not sure,” Rielle says, softly.

 

Shiro doesn’t sleep.

 

_You don’t need to make that choice._

There’s a wisdom in that, sure, but it’s not one that sits well. The decision twists, turns, alive in his gut like a snake. Hours pass. In the end, when it boils down to its utmost level and he’s still awake, watching the clock turn from _due tomorrow_ to _due today,_ there’s no more time.

Maybe it’s not Shiro’s choice to make, but it’s a choice that Shiro has.

“I can’t do it,” he says aloud. The moon’s at its farthest reach, the last tendrils of its light on the edge of the sill. Rielle’s sprawled over his lap - canine, feline, he can’t see right now. His head’s too full, but growing clearer.

She’s large, whatever she is. She nudges at him, raises to butt her head against his. He smiles despite himself, despite the wetness she licks away from his cheeks.

“Are you sure?” she says.

There’ll be other missions. Maybe even another trip out to Kerberos sometime, if the first one is successful. He could go on that. The second trip. Not the first.

Shiro can _want,_ yes, but he cannot wrap his mind around hurting one of his best friends.

“I’m sure,” Shiro says, and rises to delete the application packet.

 

The 897-A he throws in the trash.

Both of them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Other people have described this moment.

Some people say they knew it was coming. Some were taken by surprise. Some didn’t notice at first, days or weeks passing until the realization finally hit that something - _somehow_ \- is different. Something that was there before no longer is. A piece of the puzzle clicks. Two parts become whole.

When it happens for Shiro, there’s no question. He and Rielle have been awake for a little while in the dim morning gray. It’s tangled up in one moment, all together: the moment he blinks, and the moment she stretches, and the moment Rielle decides.

It’s long-awaited and yet a surprise, temperamental but firm in the air between them. It’s gravity changing, re-aligning. It’s a shift, slow, pure, and last.

“Oh,” Shiro says, weakly.

“I think this is it,” Rielle says. She’s a wolf, sturdy, stable, beautiful, shy. “Do you like it?”

Shiro considers himself a fairly eloquent person. He always has the answers in class. He can churn out essays and research summaries with ease. He knows what to say to calm Keith down, to tease Matt back on topic, yet in the face of part of his soul settling into place Shiro is struck utterly dumb.

It’s pride, first and foremost. It’s relief, too. It’s humbled, it’s selfish, it’s freedom, it’s perfect and it’s simple and it’s layered and it’s true. Shiro throws his arms around her, his fingers digging into Rielle’s inky-black fur as he breathes in the scent of his daemon, of her _newness_ and _steady_ and _his._

“We don’t have to give up everything for other people,” Rielle says, snuggling her nose into his shoulder. “We can go after what we want, too.”

“You gave up shifting, though,” Shiro says, pulling back slightly. “That’s -”

“I didn’t _give it up.”_ Rielle’s tail thwaps against his shins until he laughs, burying his fingers in the soft fur at her neck. She’s stunning, dark coat shining with life and vibrancy. “This would have happened sooner rather than later anyway. We both knew it was coming. I didn’t give anything up. I want this, too. I want to see ice unending, and meet aliens, and see stars. Maybe there are aliens like me.”

“Don’t tell me you believe Matt’s theories,” Shiro says.

“Don’t tell me you don’t,” Rielle teases, and it’s enough to make him cling tight to her again, tangle her into his embrace. Dawn breaks through the window across her fur, over his fingers, around the two of them wrapped up in one another. They’re together, him and her. Shiro and his daemon are one.

“You settled,” Shiro says, eyes prickling and suspiciously damp. “For me?”

“Who else would I settle for,” Rielle asks fondly, and shoves her wet nose into his face.

 

There’s a special desk in the Registration office that everyone visits upon their arrival at the Garrison. It’s all the way in the back, so that by the time Shiro gets there he’s passed every other desk in Registration, seven offices, and twelve notable staff leaning out of their meeting room to smile at him. There’s only one reason folks visit the back corner of Registration a second time.

The receptionist is waiting for him, papers out and practically prepared.

“I need to withdraw my 645-B, please,” Shiro says. The words are as much a rite of passage as the walk. “And file an A-1.”

“Congratulations,” the receptionist says, smiling over the counter at Rielle. “She’s beautiful. Sign here, please, and I’ll run you a copy for your records.”

“Shiro!” Matt exclaims, from the doorway far on the other side of the room. “I’ve been looking _everywhere,_ Dad said he talked to you last night. Did he -”

He stops, staring, at the sign behind Shiro proclaiming the _Daemon Registration_ desk. His mouth works silently, numb with shock. Lynnilia stares at Rielle. Rielle beams.

“Yes,” Shiro says, filling out the A-1 with ease. Lynnilia flies from Matt’s shoulder to investigate, swooping out of reach when Rielle bats at her playfully. “He did. Think I can write a mission application in eight hours? It’s kind of on a deadline, I could use your help.”

“Only if it’s what I think it is.” Hope wings into Matt’s eyes, bright and strong behind his glasses. “To where, exactly?”

“To Kerberos,” Shiro says, grinning, and signs the _Settled_ A-1.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this and all the rest of Shiro Week! :) If you liked what you read ~~or want more~~ please drop me a comment! Comments literally make my day and I so enjoy hearing from you, so please don't feel shy. You can also visit or follow me on [tumblr](http://butteredonions.tumblr.com), so please feel free to come say hello over there! I don't bite. I promise. Come yell.
> 
> ~~there, uh, there also might be more where this came from. not on tumblr. yet. but. uh.~~
> 
> And that concludes my offerings for this wonderful lovely week. Thanks for sticking around and for your shared enthusiasm in every form - comments, reblogs, kudos, likes - thank you so much. I've had just the best time. Take care. Go hug a friend today. <3


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